


The Slowest Spark Is A Breather {How high? How will you decide?}

by shield_maiden



Series: Bellarke One-shots [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellamy Has Feelings, F/M, Neither of them are particularly keen to talk about it, so does Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 02:51:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2565587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shield_maiden/pseuds/shield_maiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In her dream she’d been kissing someone who was an awful lot like Bellamy. And then Clarke remembered, the press of his lips on hers and the warm and woody scent of him, she HAD kissed him. The realization made her sit bolt upright, fully awake now, a whispered ‘fuck’ slipping through her lips.</p><p>Continuation of Ignorance Isn't Always Bliss & When I Close My Eyes It's You I See.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Slowest Spark Is A Breather {How high? How will you decide?}

**Author's Note:**

> As per usual, not my characters.  
> Also un-beta'd so if you spot any mistakes, please let me know.  
> Posting this at 2am because what is sleep or study? I hope writing fic is seen as good use of a writing degree....  
> Comments are my life, so if you enjoy it please, let me know. Otherwise I might get sad and give up on writing for these babies.
> 
> Title from 'We Sink' by Chvrches.

Early morning sunlight streamed through the chink in the tent opening and fell directly on the face of its sleeping occupant. Clarke groaned and brought a fair hand up to cover her eyes and shield them from the blazing light that somehow filtered through her closed eyelids. Rolling over, she attempted to burrow into the little nest of furs that was her bed and go back to sleep, trying to chase the dream she’d been having that had seemed so wonderful. In it she’d been kissing someone who was an awful lot like her co-leader. And then Clarke remembered, the press of his lips on hers and the warm and woody scent of him, she had kissed him. The realization made her sit bolt upright, fully awake now, a whispered ‘fuck’ slipping through her lips.

Damage control. Clarke could not (would not) allow a stupid decision like that to compromise her co-leadership with Bellamy. They had the rest of their little rag-tag group of delinquents, who were looking to them for guidance and leadership. And getting into a relationship with him would not help, and they would fight all the time and Clarke could see things getting very, very messy very fast. It didn’t matter that Clarke wanted them to be more than what they were, this was a sacrifice that she had to make for the good of the group, right? Right.

But kissing him had felt so maddeningly right. Being in his arms even just for those few seconds, Clarke had felt the safest she’d felt in a long time, maybe even ever. But was that really worth just becoming another notch in Bellamy Blake’s bed post? Clarke is pretty sure he’s not the kind of guy who does relationships and monogamy, even if he did have feelings for her. Which was completely ridiculous, why would he? He treated her with a safe level of begrudging respect and that was all. And the memories of what had happened with Finn were still all too real for Clarke to be ready to face a repeat performance. Wasn’t the saying ‘Fool me once, shame on you; Fool me twice shame on me’?

Sighing and roughly throwing aside the fur she used as a blanket Clarke figured she might as well get up and be useful, if it helped her avoid Bellamy, so much the better. She quickly dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, having become used to ignoring any stains or dirt, here, you wore what you had until it fell apart and then you patched it up and kept wearing it. Lacing up her boots she stepped out into the crisp morning air and watched as her breath created little puffs of fog in front of her. Walking as quietly as she could past the other tents with their still sleeping occupants she made her way into the drop ship and scrambled up the ladder to where they’d taken to storing medical supplies.   
Laid out on the bench where she’d left it the night before was the scrap of paper she had been using as an inventory for the last week. She’d left updating it half finished last night, and it was as good a place to start as any. She works quickly in the early morning quiet, and the work is finished much too quickly for her liking, so she takes her time re-packing everything and making sure everything is where it should be. 

Down below the rest of the hundred were beginning to stir with sleepy yawns and blinking eyes. Among them was Bellamy Blake, his dark hair sticking up comically and drawing a laugh from his sister as she emerged from her own tent. Pulling a face at her in response he ducked back inside his own dwelling and threw on a shirt and sighed heavily. There would be a conversation he would have to have with Clarke today, he knows. He swears he can still feel the soft press of her lips against his and the softness of her body as he’d pulled her closer. 

He could admit to himself in the safety of his own mind just how far gone he really was, but admitting that to Clarke was terrifying as hell and Bellamy would honestly probably rather be strung up by grounders. But Clarke had kissed him. Not the other way around, so maybe, just maybe there was something there. Frowning to himself Bellamy tries to extinguish that tiny spark of hope. There was no way Princess would be interested in a no-good-fuck-up like him. She liked guys who were everything he isn’t, guys like Finn. Okay, maybe not because that ended pretty badly for her because space walker was a lying asshole, but still. 

Sighing again he hastily runs his fingers through his hair, lest his brat of a sister laughs at him again, and steps back outside his tent. Looking around he tries not to be too obvious that he’s looking for a tell-tale head of blonde hair, and he definitely tries not to actually look disappointed when he doesn’t find it. He wants this over with on the one hand, but on the other he’d like to not have to face it at all. So instead of seeking her out, he contents himself with a meager breakfast of a handful of tart yet sweet berries and a few nuts Finn had said were called Hazelnuts. The nuts hadn't killed anyone yet, so food was food and Bellamy would eat whatever he could get. He thinks about going to find her after he’s finished eating, but he thinks he must be something of a masochist because he doesn't, instead he rounds up Miller and a small group of guys to help him repair sections of the fencing that have come loose. Surely she would find him herself anyway. 

But she doesn't. He doesn't see her the whole day. No-one does, or at least she doesn't make an appearance. Eventually he knows he has to bite the bullet and go and see her, partly to get rid of the gnawing sense of impending dread of their conversation, and also because he’s kind of sliced his arm open when his knife slipped while he was cutting rope. And the blood is soaking through the makeshift bandage he’d made from the hem of his shirt. So, y’know, might be wise to get on that before he bleeds everywhere or gets it infected he thinks to himself as he makes his way to the drop ship where he’s heard she’s holed herself up.

Bellamy climbs the ladder one handed, half hoping she’s not going to be there when he gets to the top. But she is, and he feels his stomach drop. Clarke’s slumped forward over the work table, piles of herbs in front of her and he can hear her counting softly. He clears his throat and she practically jumps out of her skin, whirling around to face him. He can’t decipher the jigsaw puzzle of emotions on her face, but he imagines it mirrors his own.

Clarke feels her mouth go dry and her pulse thunders in her ears, she wants to say it’s because he scared her, but she’s been half expecting him to come up here all day. He’s watching her face, and she drops her gaze from his and catches sight of blood soaked cloth tied haphazardly around his forearm. She’s out of her chair before her brain catches up with her body, her hands gently cradling his arm and leading him over so that he can sit while she assesses the damage. 

“What happened?” She asks quietly as she unties the knots and carefully peels the fabric away, her hair is falling into her eyes and Bellamy’s other hand itches to brush it back.

“A little accident with a knife while fixing the fences.” He responds with a shrug. 

The soft touches of her fingers on his skin are leaving a trail of warmth behind as Clarke examines the wound closely, trying to decide how best to treat it. Her brows knit together and she bites her lower lip, Bellamy can’t help smiling at that. It’s a classic ‘concentrating Clarke’ face, and it makes him ache to grab her face in his hands and kiss her. 

“I think you’ll be okay with just a bandage.” She decides, reaching across the table to grab one from the medical kit she’d found in the bunker. She also grabs a bottle of Monty and Jasper's moonshine and looks up at him apologetically.

“This is going to sting, but I have to do it.” She explains as she un-corks the bottle and tips a small stream of it straight onto his arm. 

He grunts in pain and grits his teeth until the burn subsides. “You weren’t kidding, Princess.” He grumbles as she firmly wraps his arm with the bandage.

“There.” She sits back, smiling softly. Her hand is still resting on his wrist and he takes the opportunity to slide his hand into hers. 

“Bellamy,” She sighs sadly. “I don’t know if this is a good idea. Us being involved would jeopardize everything we’ve done.” Her eyes flick back to where their hands are joined. “I can’t just be another fling for you.”

“Clarke, no.” He starts, frustration evident in his voice. He doesn’t trust his voice, not right now. He trusts his actions though, so he tries to show her. Hooking his finger under her chin he brings her eyes to his and kisses her. It’s soft and slow for a minute, but it quickly becomes heated as her hand fists itself in his hair and scratches lightly over his scalp. His own hand twists into her blonde waves and they’re as soft as he’d imagined. They pull apart, breathing hard. And then he finally finds his voice as he drops another kiss on her forehead.

“You are so much more than that, Princess.”

Her smile is full and genuine this time, her hands wrapping around his neck as she presses another kiss to his lips.


End file.
